So as promised, tonight our teams of two join together into two giant chunker teams of eight to battle it out in a four-course cook-off. The winning team, according to skinny Pete, who’s fake tan level appears to be approaching critical mass, will be safe, while the losers will then turn on each other in the ultimate bloodsport to the death.

Or just more cooking.

Because the producers like nothing better than raising people’s blood pressure and watching Triad vs. Mafia gang wars on YouTube, our Italian mamas, Angela and Melina, have been plopped in the same U-bend as Ashlee and Sophia.

The rest of the team is made up of Personal Trainers, Luke and Scott, and our favourite inked chubbers, Steph and Dan.

The other team, while not containing two micro teams dead set on ripping each others’ throats out, have their own version of the hole in the bucket – but this time it’s a whore, rather than a hole, and it’s name is Kerrie.

Oh and there’s also bright-eyed Andi and her plus-one, less-smiley Sam and his dull friend, and Maybelline siblings, Jake and Elle.

Speaking of Jake, one of my loyal readers has pointed out to me that Jake’s hairstyle is somewhat dump-like and that if you were to ask for it in a salon without a photo, your best bet would be to say you want the kind of brown Mr Whippy that my dog likes to sample in the cat litter. (Thanks Melinda.)

Anyhoo, as cooking is about to begin, Melina turns to the Viper Twins and says she’s utterly DARK that they are on the same team, but as the producers have got the lot of them in a clitoris-grip, they’ve got no choice but to work together and try not to throw a pan of hot gravy in anyone’s face.

Ashlee and Sophia offer a tandem eye-roll as agreement and then snark to the cameras that if Angela or Melina thinks this means they’re besties they’re wronger than that time Pete THOUGHT he enjoyed their food, only to wake up at 2am with a brown nightie and a deep desire for a sick bag.

Anyhoo, ain’t none of them got time for Sudden Death so they strap on their aprons and off they go.

Ashlee and Sophia quickly wrestle the plane off the tarmac and set a course straight for the orient. ‘We’re cooking asian’ they spit, daring anyone to argue with them and be the first testicle in the blender. Fatties Dan and Steph reckon they can work with it and decide to take a South American dish, spray on some coriander deodorant and call it done. Angela and Melina are keeping the peace and taking out their inner rage on some duck and Luke and Scott are doing… Sago.

What?

That’s right dominance lovers, our PTs love a good spanking, especially when it’s administered by a grill-faced Gestapo with a tongue so foul you could breed chickens on it. They’re doing the dessert and if they’ve got a clue what they’re doing it’s because Sophia gave it to them – along with the threat of what will happen to them if they don’t do the FUCK what they’re told.

Over on the other side, Team Black are going with an Italian theme and Sam and Chris are working on a pair of soup ‘shooters’ that conjure images of the words ‘why’ and ‘the fuck’. One’s capsicum, the other’s pea and Sam’s a big salt and pepper freak who wants the judges to acknowledge his food is not nearly as bland as his friend’s face.

Craig waddles over and has a taste of the soup, quickly offering it the double thumbs up. Seconds later he’s on camera with his squat wife, laying out bitcherisms like ‘I hope the judges don’t think it’s too salty’ and ‘well fuck me hard with a ranga dick – that’s some busted ass cock-chowder!’.

He and Kerrie are in charge of the main and have decided to throw some flesh on the grill and slap a sauce on it. This is to be preceded by Josh and Andi’s whiting entree and Jake and Elle’s italian sponge dessert.

But there’s trouble in dessert town because the chocolate ganache keeps inconveniently turning into chocolate trash and they weren’t planning on serving their dish in a dustbin. They try three times before giving it up as a bad gig, unaware that our safe little cupcakes have known the answer all along, but are curious as to whether the pressure will crack Jake’s foundation.

Back to the White Team and the fan’s on low with Angela positioned below about to lob up her first handful of shit.

‘I can’t remember how to cook!’ she shrieks. ‘How high does this need to be? What’s a saucepan?’

Mufasa can’t hear her because she’s got salad dressing in her mane and it’s gone all dredlocky, so Angela goes to Luke and begs him to tell her who she is and why she’s surrounded by fucking Asians.

Luke panics because he’s flipped off his Free Will switch and is set to receive information only. So when she comes storming over and demands that he tick the ‘miniscule’ or ‘monstrous’ cock box, he blanches whiter than Ali’s fantasy wedding and blurts: ‘medium?’.

Angela thanks him, turns on her heel and returns to her bench muttering about cats. Minutes later and her duck is up in flames and Melina is wishing she was on that other season of MKR as part of the italian team that could actually cook.

But there’s no time to waste and Angela has to get another duck cooked so she can win the damn competition and move to Pluto. With only seconds left she yanks it out of the oven and chucks it onto the salad, hoping that it won’t quack TOO loudly when the judges dive in.

And speaking of, here they come, up to the Black Team’s bench to taste. First are the soup shooters by Sam and Chris and when Pete complains that one was too tomatoey, the other too salty and that they were both SHIT, Craig busts into his codger-on-claret dance and starts shrieking ‘I told you so!’

Next is Andi and Josh’s Whiting – which the judges love – and Whore Kerrie’s steak which Manu says was well cooked for someone who probably prefers to eat her meat Serengeti-style.

Jake and Elle’s dessert, despite being melted chocolate rather than ganache, and tossed in a glass rather than arranged on a plate, is also in favour and Pete commends them for giving him something that won’t lurk in his guts like a boulder for the next six hours.

Onto the White Team and Dan and Steph’s South American-turned-Asian entree gets the high-five, as does Ashlee and Sophia’s marinated beef main and Ashlee and Sophia (performed by Luke and Scott)’s coconut sago dessert.

Angela and Melina’s entree, on the other hand…

As the judges take to the bench, it doesn’t look too bad, but then Manu nudges the duck a little too hard with his fork and it lets one go. Angela tries to pass it off as a post-partum reflex, but the judges aren’t convinced and they’ve sworn an oath not to eat anything more alive than the contents of each other’s trousers.

The italians are devastated and our Asians are pissed – especially when it turns out they are the losing team and have to go into the cook-off.

Angela starts to cry because she’s just realised that when she moves to Pluto she might not be able to take her forty cats, but neither Ashlee nor Sophia are moved and reckon her insanity plea isn’t going to save her, because bitch is going to be dragging her nutty guts straight to Sudden Death!

For the cook-off it’s back to duos and each team has to cook a dish with two ingredients that are so into one another they just want to ditch the kitchen and get each other off in the back of a panel van.

Dan and Steph and Luke and Scott are both doing lamb and mint. Somewhere in a conservative residence, my mother is clasping her hands together and saying ‘oooh, what an interesting idea!’ while the rest of Australia does a Sophia eye-roll and wonders what the selection criteria was for this flatline fuckery.

Ashlee and Sophia have chosen ginger and shallots and Sophia explains their choice to the cameras with The Dance of a Thousand Cunts-face and manages to make everyone watching feel like if they had one wish in the world, it would be to reach through the screen and nut her into oblivion.

Speaking of nuts, Angela’s still one and Melina’s barely holding on. They’ve decided to cook Asian food because Melina kind of knows how and Angela swore while spitting that if they didn’t cook Asian she’d never get back to the Delorian.

Melina goes on about the ‘balance of flavours’ and when she thinks they’ve got it right she tackles Angela’s buttocks in a horny display unmatched since the real Mufasa fathered Simba on Pride Rock.

Ashlee and Sophia reckon these should have stuck to cooking foccacias because if there’s a way to fuck up their native cuisine, they’ll find it, and bitches’ food would make Alex Papps look pretty.

But it’s up to the judges and here they come!

Of the two lots of lamb, it’s Dan and Steph who take the prize because, even though they’re both well cooked, Luke and Scott’s is only just and they’ve loaded so much extra shit on the plate it’s slopping onto Manu’s Manolos.

Ashlee and Sophia have, as the judges put it: ‘once again shown that cunts can COOK!’ It’s faultless, apparently, and if there’s any critique at all it’s that neither judge thinks Sophia’s looks will be particularly improved by the removal of her braces.

The Italians are last and Melina says that even though Angela is currently less sane than the droid from Alien who went crazy and started trying to kill Sigourney before spewing up a whole bunch of that icky white shit, they put their hearts and souls into the dish.

And that, says Pete, is the problem. It’s supposed to be a hot and sour soup and all he can taste is back hair and fucking San Remo and it’s that kind of barf meat that’s taking them straight to an Ali and Samuel showdown.

Ashlee and Sophia are ecstatic and reckon this is better than that dream Ashlee had where she cut her fringe and realised there was a teeny tiny Voldemort hidden under there.

The Italians are at first sad but then fiesty. Angela starts rambling about being married to Rocky Balboa and how that bitch Adrienne put up a bit of a fight but her cooking soon sorted her out. Melina agrees that Angela’s husband lives in fear of his life and keeps paying tradesmen to ‘fix’ their stove so he can live to king-hit another bouncer.

Ali and Samuel, who, at the start of the show, didn’t care who they were facing off against, are now trying to fist their smiles into submission.

Rico reckons Mufasa and his spaghetti-brained sidekick are as good as GONE, but if it turns out to be Ali, the show will have been good for her because, even though she’s shown Australia how to fuck a plate with the panache of a prison Sister, she’ll have witnessed a bunch of whores who’ve somehow managed to buckle a bitch into wedlock, and if they can do it, well GODDAMN so can she!